Tracking Sandwich Eaters

Friday, February 25, 2005

So, okay, my surname's not exactly common. I used to be ashamed of it. Casocot. The whole thing sounds made up. Father used to tell us they coined this strange family name because the Murillos -- our supposed old family name -- were being hunted down by the Japanese kempetai during World War II. As to what offense or guerilla honor, I have no idea. Father was fond of tall tales.

Casocot. It sounds dirty sometimes, and when foreigners do try to pronounce it, they say "Casket" instead. Like "death" itself. Even the great poet Eileen Tabios once called me Ian Rosales Scott. Because, well, there's just no spelling it correctly, especially the first time around.

Kasukut. Casukot. Kasokot. I can go on, and on.

Just now, I tried Googling the whole damn surname, to see if I could get anything beyond returns with my name in them.

And why does she have an online dating profile for a site usually reserved for mail-order brides desperately looking for white, dirty, old men? And why does she look like an overly Block & Whitened tsimay? And does the same blood course through our veins? Oh. My. God.